Pieces of a game
by hannahtail
Summary: "There is no way for such things as luck to exist." Dusty a farm boy trapped in a small town with high hopes. His dream might sound easy at first, but it's not so easy at all. There are a lot of things that he had to face and this time he won't be alone.
1. chapter 1

Hope to hear from you soon!

We were all in a maze which no one

Could escape without pain.

They were all in a maze which no one

Could manage to find the gate.

I was the one which unluckiness

Had messed with my fate.

And unfortunately, I am to blame

For putting them in this maze.

It was late in the evening. Everyone on base had already turned in for the night, with the exception of one. The concept of sleeping never came easily to him, especially if he considered everything he'd gone through over the years. He could not afford to be sad or frightened; it was part of his job. Yet he was sick and tired of having to live like this. There were times where he wanted to simply give up. Stop fighting. But he couldn't. Not for his team.

His glacier blue eyes were doleful. Over the years, everyone had tried to help him in any way they could, but he no longer accepted their help. His hope was limited. He never spoke about how he felt, even when it was eating him up inside. They in turn chose not to ask him anything, and he in turn kept his more troubling thoughts to himself. He did not want anyone else to see him as resigned and desolate, even if it was getting impossible to hide his feelings from them.

He sighed as he gazed up at the moon and the stars shining brightly against the blackened sky. This was the kind of image that reminded him of how beautiful the night could be. But it wasn't enough to ease the pain of his memories. How much light or beauty could make the darkness inside him disappear?

"Blade..."

He didn't turn around. He knew whose voice it was. The voice of his best friend. The one that was always by his side. The one that never forgot about him. The one that was there for him, even when he didn't believe it.

The one he'd let down all those years ago.

"Blade," the voice spoke again. "I know how you feel. I'm afraid, too. About next year. However—"

"The end is coming sooner than we thought," Blade cut in, already knowing that that was what he was going to say. Hearing himself speak those words made Blade sick to his stomach, but he kept a straight face.

After a moment of silence had passed, his friend's spirit resumed talking. "Don't worry about it, though," he said. "We both know by now that something like this isn't strange."

Blade frowned. "Really, Nick? You're telling me this after everything that's happened to us?"

Nick didn't answer. Blade took it as a sign to keep talking.

"You say that we know how common this is, but does that mean it's something that we're used to?" Blade's fists clenched as he spoke. "Even if we tried to stop it or change something about it, it'll be meaningless. We aren't able to fight back, even with your strong power. The same s*** will happen every time. Remember those other times, Nick? Do you?" Blade's fists unclenched. "It just isn't enough…"

Blade's words made Nick feel unsettled. Had he been alive, he would have felt nauseous. Blade took a deep breath before turning to face him.

"You're still helping me, though," he said softly. "You're still helping me even when you know there is no escape from all this, Nick."

Nick always hated it when his friend talked like that. He did his best to try and soothe his uncertainties by saying, "I know it's painful and difficult to hold on to hope, but please don't give up now! I'm sure that, with enough patience, it'll feel like the good old days have returned."

Blade sighed once again. "And when will that happen?"

Nick failed to come up with a good answer. Instead he said, "It'll happen. I'm sure of it!"

"Sure it will. Believe what you want, Nick. But if you're still disappointed by the results this year, don't think that I could have changed something. I couldn't even try to save you! By now, only a miracle can change everything and save us..."


	2. chapter 1 (02-01 12:34:13)

A picturesque morning in the tiny town of Propwash Junction. The few dozen denizens were already up and going about their day. Everything was serene…or so it seemed…

"Dusty!" barked an old man with a graying mustache. " Will you kindly explain to me why you wolere late again?"

Dusty Crophopper groaned inwardly as he turned to face his employer. Once again, he'd stayed up most of the night and ended up sleeping in. He'd tried to get to work with as much quietness as he could muster, only to be caught as he was reaching his locker.

Dusty forced himself to smile up at his employer. "Sorry, Leadbottom," he said, "but...eheh...I didn't sleep a lot last night, so..." He gestured helplessly with his hands.

"So what? Why did you not get a good night's sleep this time?" Leadbottom folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Dusty began lamely, "I had to do so many things, and it kept me up for most of the night. That's why." He forced himself to smile.

Leadbottom didn't look convinced. "Did any of those 'many things' have to do with the wild race you've been blabbering about these past months?"

"Uh...what? No!"

"Don't lie to me, Dusty," Leadbottom snapped. "You've been watching reruns of that wild race again, haven't you?" When Dusty didn't respond, he continued talking. "Damn it all, boy! When are you goin' to get it in your thick skull that you just ain't meant to enter that race? You're a human! That race is for them monsters only!"

The "wild race" Leadbottom was referring to was a competition that was held for people who were born with special skills every year. They had many names for themselves, although the popular term of "monsters" was hardly a politically correct one. The competition itself was dangerous, to the point where humans were all but banned from participating. Yes, humans could enter and give it a shot, but many chose to stay out of it in order to protect their own skins. The few that entered were lucky to make it through the first day.

This did not deter Dusty one bit. For as long as he could remember, Dusty had always been enthralled by the "wild race." It was bigger and better than any other holiday he'd ever celebrated. He would keep track of every monster that entered, made guesses about who would win and who wouldn't, and study the winners' strategies. He researched the race's history, rules, and incidents in the hope of learning how to beat it when he entered one day.

After last year's competition finished, Dusty made the big decision to enter himself in the next one. His best friend Chug had supported his decision wholeheartedly, but Dottie, his other friend and pseudo-sister, disapproved of the whole plan. She would keep reminding him that he didn't have what it took to even survive the first day, let alone the first hour. In spite of her words, he wasn't deterred. He was going to compete, and nothing was going to change his mind.

"I don't care," Dusty said to Leadbottom. He heard himself sound pissed off, but did not care. "I don't care if I'm just a human. I can fight like them, too! Even if the whole thing is a living nightmare, I still wanna do it." He stared at Leadbottom as though he were expecting a response.

Leadbottom groaned. He did not want to have another pointless debate about this "wild race" with his young employee. "Let's get goin'," he said after a moment of silence. "We've got a lot of work to do today." Without another word, he made his way to the fields. Dusty sighed in frustration before following. It wasn't common for him to snap at people, but whenever he did, he wondered if there was something inside him that made him behave that way.

"And finally done!" Dusty exclaimed as the sound of the whistle blared out over the fields. "Wow, what a day..."

Dusty vowed that if he ever found the opportunity to look for a different job, he would make sure it didn't involve dirt and corn. He headed back towards the locker room to shower and change out of his work clothes. He would like to head home and take a nap.

It isn't funny how lucky I am to put up with the smell of Vitaminamulch, Dusty thought. He couldn't stand his job, and he also couldn't stand how "lucky" he was to be where he was.

Upon arriving home, Dusty wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the couch. Instead, he heads to his bathroom to take a shower. He tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry basket, then hopped into the bathtub and turned on the faucet. As he scrubbed his body, he was unable to stop himself from thinking back to a particular evening from his childhood.

"Mom?" a six-year-old Dusty inquired as he stood in the hallway outside his bedroom.

"Shh, Dustin," said Dusty's mother as she ran her fingers carefully through his hair. Then she took him by the hand and led him back to his room.

Dusty began to feel uncomfortable. His mother looked tired, but there was fear in her eyes. "Mom?" he asked again. "What's going on? Is something wrong?" As his mother placed him back in his bed and tucked him in, he couldn't help but ask, "Where's Daddy?"

"Daddy's fine, Dustin," Dusty's mother assured him. "You don't have to worry. I just want you to stay in bed and go back to sleep." She smiled to reassure him, but Dusty knew from the tone in her voice that something was wrong. Before he could ask, she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving the room.

Dusty frowned. That was the last time he ever saw his mother alive. He never understood the circumstances of his mother's death, or even his father's. Everyone told him that the past was in the past, nothing could be changed, and if you lingered on the details too long, you would never be happy.

Dusty finished his shower and changed into clean clothes. Just then, the phone rang. Dusty went to check the caller I.D.; it was his friend Chug. He picked up. "Hey, Chug."

"Hey there, Duster!" Chug's voice sounded cheerful on the other line. "Are you home?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Alright-y! You are ready for today, aren't you?"

"Don't hurry me, Chug. I'm really tired today."

"What?!" Chug sounded incredulous. "You can't be serious! You never skip practice."

"I know, but Leadbottom had me worked to the bone."

"So? Leadbottom always works you to the bone. It never stopped you before."

Dusty sighed. Chug had a point there. They would still practice even when Dusty was cramped and exhausted. "Okay, okay," he said at last. "Give me a few minutes to get ready, okay? I promise I'll be on your way in no time." Then he hung up.

"Better get myself into some clothes," Dusty said aloud before heading off to his bedroom.

Dusty changed into his clothes, grabbed a duffel bag that sat in the corner of his bedroom, then made his way out of his house and towards the store Chug ran with their other friend Dottie. He saw Chug outside his store helping out a customer. The customer, Sparky, was another of Chug's friends. Every time they met up, they would start chatting about whatever they could think about. They shared many interests and almost could never stop talking about them. That was why they were such good friends.

Dusty waited until Sparky left before pulling out a walkie-talkie. It was Chug's idea to have him contact him like that every time before they began training; he said it gave the whole thing a "realistic" feel. "This is Dusty Crophopper, over," he called. "Come in, Chug! I'm ready to start training, over."

He saw Chug hurry back into his shop. Not five seconds later, he heard his voice crackle on the other end. "Chug is not here, man," he said. "Come on, Dust! You gotta use your call sign. We talked about this. Over."

"Right, right." Dusty couldn't help but grin. "This is Strut Jetstream calling for Coach Turbozilla. You ready for practice?"

"You bet, Strut! Meet you at the field."

Dusty made his way to the vacant field just beyond the store. Beyond the store was a forest. He saw Chug stA picturesque morning in the tiny town of Propwash Junction. The few dozen denizens were already up and going about their day. Everything was serene…or so it seemed…

"Dusty!" barked an old man with a graying mustache. "There you are. Will you kindly explain to me why you were late again?"

Dusty Crophopper groaned inwardly as he turned to face his employer. Once again, he'd stayed up most of the night and ended up sleeping in. He'd tried to get to work with as much quietness as he could muster, only to be caught as he was reaching his locker.

Dusty forced himself to smile up at his employer. "Sorry, Leadbottom," he said, "but...eheh...I didn't sleep a lot last night, so..." He gestured helplessly with his hands.

"So what? Why did you not get a good night's sleep this time?" Leadbottom folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Dusty began lamely, "I had to do so many things, and it kept me up for most of the night. That's why." He forced himself to smile.

Leadbottom didn't look convinced. "Did any of those 'many things' have to do with the wild race you've been blabbering about these past months?"

"Uh...what? No!"

"Don't lie to me, Dusty," Leadbottom snapped. "You've been watching reruns of that wild race again, haven't you?" When Dusty didn't respond, he continued talking. "Damn it all, boy! When are you goin' to get it in your thick skull that you just ain't meant to enter that race? You're a human! That race is for them monsters only!"

The "wild race" Leadbottom was referring to was a competition that was held for people who were born with special skills every year. They had many names for themselves, although the popular term of "monsters" was hardly a politically correct one. The competition itself was dangerous, to the point where humans were all but banned from participating. Yes, humans could enter and give it a shot, but many chose to stay out of it in order to protect their own skins. The few that entered were lucky to make it through the first day.

This did not deter Dusty one bit. For as long as he could remember, Dusty had always been enthralled by the "wild race." It was bigger and better than any other holiday he'd ever celebrated. He would keep track of every monster that entered, made guesses about who would win and who wouldn't, and study the winners' strategies. He researched the race's history, rules, and incidents in the hope of learning how to beat it when he entered one day.

After last year's competition finished, Dusty made the big decision to enter himself in the next one. His best friend Chug had supported his decision wholeheartedly, but Dottie, his other friend and pseudo-sister, disapproved of the whole plan. She would keep reminding him that he didn't have what it took to even survive the first day, let alone the first hour. In spite of her words, he wasn't deterred. He was going to compete, and nothing was going to change his mind.

"I don't care," Dusty said to Leadbottom. He heard himself sound pissed off, but did not care. "I don't care if I'm just a human. I can fight like them, too! Even if the whole thing is a living nightmare, I still wanna do it." He stared at Leadbottom as though he were expecting a response.

Leadbottom groaned. He did not want to have another pointless debate about this "wild race" with his young employee. "Let's get goin'," he said after a moment of silence. "We've got a lot of work to do today." Without another word, he made his way to the fields. Dusty sighed in frustration before following. It wasn't common for him to snap at people, but whenever he did, he wondered if there was something inside him that made him behave that way.

"And finally done!" Dusty exclaimed as the sound of the whistle blared out over the fields. "Wow, what a day..."

Dusty vowed that if he ever found the opportunity to look for a different job, he would make sure it didn't involve dirt and corn. He headed back towards the locker room to shower and change out of his work clothes. He would like to head home and take a nap.

It isn't funny how lucky I am to put up with the smell of Vitaminamulch, Dusty thought. He couldn't stand his job, and he also couldn't stand how "lucky" he was to be where he was.

Upon arriving home, Dusty wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on the couch. Instead, he heads to his bathroom to take a shower. He tossed his dirty clothes into the laundry basket, then hopped into the bathtub and turned on the faucet. As he scrubbed his body, he was unable to stop himself from thinking back to a particular evening from his childhood.

"Mom?" a six-year-old Dusty inquired as he stood in the hallway outside his bedroom.

"Shh, Dustin," said Dusty's mother as she ran her fingers carefully through his hair. Then she took him by the hand and led him back to his room.

Dusty began to feel uncomfortable. His mother looked tired, but there was fear in her eyes. "Mom?" he asked again. "What's going on? Is something wrong?" As his mother placed him back in his bed and tucked him in, he couldn't help but ask, "Where's Daddy?"

"Daddy's fine, Dustin," Dusty's mother assured him. "You don't have to worry. I just want you to stay in bed and go back to sleep." She smiled to reassure him, but Dusty knew from the tone in her voice that something was wrong. Before he could ask, she gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving the room.

Dusty frowned. That was the last time he ever saw his mother alive. He never understood the circumstances of his mother's death, or even his father's. Everyone told him that the past was in the past, nothing could be changed, and if you lingered on the details too long, you would never be happy.

Dusty finished his shower and changed into clean clothes. Just then, the phone rang. Dusty went to check the caller I.D.; it was his friend Chug. He picked up. "Hey, Chug."

"Hey there, Duster!" Chug's voice sounded cheerful on the other line. "Are you home?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Alright-y! You are ready for today, aren't you?"

"Don't hurry me, Chug. I'm really tired today."

"What?!" Chug sounded incredulous. "You can't be serious! You never skip practice."

"I know, but Leadbottom had me worked to the bone."

"So? Leadbottom always works you to the bone. It never stopped you before."

Dusty sighed. Chug had a point there. They would still practice even when Dusty was cramped and exhausted. "Okay, okay," he said at last. "Give me a few minutes to get ready, okay? I promise I'll be on your way in no time." Then he hung up.

"Better get myself into some clothes," Dusty said aloud before heading off to his bedroom.

Dusty changed into his clothes, grabbed a duffel bag that sat in the corner of his bedroom, then made his way out of his house and towards the store Chug ran with their other friend Dottie. He saw Chug outside his store helping out a customer. The customer, Sparky, was another of Chug's friends. Every time they met up, they would start chatting about whatever they could think about. They shared many interests and almost could never stop talking about them. That was why they were such good friends.

Dusty waited until Sparky left before pulling out a walkie-talkie. It was Chug's idea to have him contact him like that every time before they began training; he said it gave the whole thing a "realistic" feel. "This is Dusty Crophopper, over," he called. "Come in, Chug! I'm ready to start training, over."

He saw Chug hurry back into his shop. Not five seconds later, he heard his voice crackle on the other end. "Chug is not here, man," he said. "Come on, Dust! You gotta use your call sign. We talked about this. Over."

"Right, right." Dusty couldn't help but grin. "This is Strut Jetstream calling for Coach Turbozilla. You ready for practice?"

"You bet, Strut! Meet you at the field."

Dusty made his way to the vacant field just beyond the store.

Nov 29, 2017Site's acting weird with the PM today. The whole document is less than 8000 words.

He saw Chug standing right at the edge of the field, dressed in a matching green jacket and hat. He had his walkie-talkie in one hand and a book in the other. The book was their guide to prepare them for the wild race.

"You all ready to surprise me, Duster? I mean, Strut?" Chug asked through the walkie-talkie. Dusty could see him grinning from where he stood.

"I can give it a try!" Dusty replied, laughing. He unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out its contents: two Smith and Wesson Model 29 guns with a .44 Magnum cartridge, and the holsters they went in. The guns were originally his father's; he'd received them as a birthday present as a child, but they were kept away from him until he was old enough to know how to use a firearm. That had been the idea of both his mother and Leadbottom.

Dusty checked to make sure the guns were loaded before attaching the holsters to his belt and sliding them in. Then he pulled out one of the guns and took on a fighting stance. "All set, Coach," he called out.

Chug's voice crackled back onto the walkie-talkie. "Ready and...go!"

Dusty took off towards the trees. This exercise was simple: run through the woods and shoot all the targets he could find. Chug had set up a trail for him to follow, and hung targets for him to shoot at. The "targets" in question were glass bottles that dangled from tree branches from colorful pieces of yarn.

Dusty shot at a bottle, and it shattered instantly. "One down," he announced over the walkie-talkie.

"Great! Now, try to shoot a target that's behind you," Chug told him.

Dusty looked over his shoulder and saw a green wine bottle hanging from a maple tree. He turned around, cocked the gun, and fired. First shot missed. Dusty grumbled and tried again. This time, he was successful. "Got it on the second try," he declared.

"Okay, don't be dogging it," Chug said. "Now, I think there's another target on your left. Pretend it's someone trying to sneak attack you!"

"Roger that!" Dusty turned around and fired. He managed to hit the target/bottle. "Did it," he declared proudly.

"All right-y," Chug's voice came back on the walkie-talkie. "There's about three targets I've set up down by the dried-up riverbed. This time, I want you to use both your weapons. Try to pretend they're enemies and you gotta sneak-attack them. Got it?"

"Got it!" Dusty jogged down towards the dry riverbed. Three bottles hung from a willow tree on the other side, two hiding within the branches. Dusty ducked down behind a large rock and got his other gun ready. At that instant, he felt a burning sensation forming in his legs, but he chose to ignore it.

Both guns in hand, Dusty peered up from behind the rock and made to aim…but then felt a shooting pain go up his legs, through his body, and to his head. The shock made Dusty cry out in pain and fall down. As he lay on the ground, he felt a brief sense of relief that he had not cocked either gun at that point. Otherwise, he would be in trouble.

"Aw, f," Dusty groaned.

"Strut? I mean, Dust? What happened?" he heard Chug's voice inquire.

"Something's wrong with my leg," Dusty replied. "I don't know what happened. All I know is that I didn't shoot myself."

"Hold on, I'll be right there." A few minutes later, Chug showed up and helped Dusty up on his feet. "Can you walk okay, man?" he asked worriedly.

Dusty put some weight on his feet. No burning sensation or shooting pain happened. "Yeah, I think so," he said after a moment. Maybe it had been from the combined stress of working and training today.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. At least, for now. I just know Dottie won't be happy about this."


	3. chapter 2

Dusty made his way to Dottie's shop, thinking about what he would say to her when she asked him what he did and why. This was the third time he'd be going there. If she doesn't hit me with anything metal, I'll be grateful, he thought to himself.

Just before reaching the shop's entrance, Dusty had a feeling that Dottie would be expecting him, and his feeling was correct. There she was, sitting in a chair just to the left of the shop's door, reading a manual. She had her blue-purple hair in a low ponytail.

"Well? What is it this time?" she asked, slightly annoyed.

"Oh, I just...you know..." Dusty struggled to come up with a believable lie for Dottie. "I was taking a walk through the woods when I felt a pain in my leg. It's gone now, but I...I just need to make sure it's okay." He smiled stupidly at her.

Dottie gave him a hard look. Dusty could instantly tell that she did not believe him. Nonetheless, she said, "Come on in, then. Let's get it checked out."

"Okay." Dusty should have felt relieved that she didn't ask questions, but he wasn't. Almost as though sensing his feelings, Dottie added, "I'll have to check your weaponry as well, Dust. Just as a precaution."

As Dottie inspected his guns, Dusty preoccupied himself by studying the pictures that hung on the opposite wall. Many of them depicted him and Dottie as children. Dusty smiled as he gazed at the pictures; he couldn't possibly imagine how his life would have been like without her in it. She was like a lost big sister to him. After his parents had vanished, her parents had taken him in. This had happened because Dusty's mother had arranged for Dottie's parents to be his guardians; he hadn't learned this until much later.

Although Dottie had come to care about him over time, she had initially been displeased by the arrangement, having lost her only brother to cancer at the age of eighteen. She'd been close to him, and she felt as though Dusty had come to replace that brother. It wasn't until many months later that she started to bond with him, but only after she'd woken Dusty up from yet another nightmare regarding his parents and consoled him.

"Okay, your guns seem to check out just fine," Dottie announced, pulling Dusty out of his thoughts. "I just need to take a look at your leg."

"Oh! Uh, really? Thanks," Dusty replied. Then, "You do? What for?"

"Just to make sure you're not in too much pain."

"So...now that that's out of the way, I'd like to know how you got hurt in the first place?" Dottie inquired, raising an eyebrow.

Oh, boy. Dusty had to think hard about what he was going to tell her. "It's just like I said; I was walking through the woods and then I felt a pain in my leg," he fibbed.

"Well, what made you decide to take a walk through the woods?" Dottie inquired.

"For the...uh...scenery?"

"The scenery."

"Yeah. Nothing too serious!"

"Nothing too serious, huh?" Dottie hummed and studied one of the guns. "Okay, then. Are you sure you weren't in the woods because you were, oh, I don't know, practicing for the wild race again?!" She gave him a furious glare.

"What? Me? No!" Dusty exclaimed. "Don't be crazy, Dottie!" He'd been prepared to come up with a decent lie that would convince her that he hadn't been training for the wild race. Unfortunately, Chug decided at that moment to burst into Dottie's shop.

"Dusty!" he cried. Dottie and Dusty snapped their heads toward him. "You were awesome out there!"

"Chug, please!" Dusty hissed, gesturing to Dottie, but Chug continued rambling about Dusty making progress.

"You were going at lightspeed, Dusty! Lightspeed! You'll be mopping the floor at the qualifier this weekend—" It was only then that he noticed Dottie. She was giving him the stink-eye. He'd blabbed everything in front of her.

"The qualifier this weekend?" Dottie repeated, turning to face Dusty again.

"Uh...yes...I mean, no! I mean...I don't know...?" Dusty tried to come off as innocent, but was failing. Dottie sighed.

"Dusty, listen to me. You are not a monster. You don't have any skills that could make you super fast or super strong. You are just a human!" She picked up a screwdriver that was lying around as she continued speaking. "Do you have any idea what'll happen if a human like you competed in the wild race?" She smacked Dusty with the screwdriver's handle on his back, then on his arms. "Broken bones! Amputated limbs!" A third hit went to his stomach. "Killed and eaten by dangerous animals!" The fourth and final hit went on his head. "Worst of all, lack of common sense!" Then she put the screwdriver down and put her hands on her hips.

"So you see, Dusty, there are many reasons why humans don't ever enter the wild race," she said. "Those are just a few of the reasons." She had a good point, but still...

"Dottie, I don't wanna give up so easily," Dusty retorted. "I want to be more than just a farm boy from the middle of nowhere, stuck doing some menial chores as a way of living. I know you worry about me a lot. So that's why I think I want you to come with me to the qualifiers." He knew she wasn't going to be pleased with this, so he tried to assure her by giving her a dorky smile.

All Dottie could do was give him a hard look and said, "You are unbelievable." Nevertheless, she agreed to come with so she could make sure Dusty didn't kill himself.

"Don't be worried, Dot," Dusty said as he made his way out of the shop with Chug, "I'm gonna be careful. And I'm sure nothing will go wrong. Right, Chug?"

"Those dangerous animals can be scary," Chug muttered.

o~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~o

Dusty and Chug went back to Dusty's place to watch TV. They had it on a sports channel that would air the wild race live. A segment called "Top 10 Horrifying Wild Race Moments" was currently running; it showed the competitors getting harmed in rather horrific ways. As Chug grimaced and made comments about each moment, Dusty went over some notes he'd written down while practicing.

"Say Chug," Dusty began, looking towards his friend, "what do you think about the qualifier?"

"Don't worry so much, Duster!" Chug reassured him. "You're gonna be fine out there. Once I finish that guide about the wild race, you'll have a surefire chance of winning." He gave him a big smile. A moment later, the smile disappeared. A thoughtful look replaced it.

"You know," Chug began, "I don't think the book will cover everything you'll run into out there..."

Dusty gave him a curious look. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying is that...well, I think we'd be better if we had some...help?" Chug proffered.

"Help? Help from who?" Dusty raised an eyebrow.

"Erm...maybe the Skipper?"

Dusty was puzzled. "That old guy who lives in that house at the edge of town?"

"Yeah! He's a war hero." Chug smiled. "My friend Sparky says he was one of the best in the Navy. He must know a lot of stuff!" When he saw Dusty frown, Chug was quick to add, "And he's a monster, too! I don't know what kind, though. But he and Sparky are the only monsters that live in this town. So what I'm saying is that if you want to compete against the other monsters, then you need to be trained by one!"

Dusty was still frowning. Chug had made a good point about getting someone to train him, but Skipper? "He hasn't fought in decades," Dusty pointed out. "He's retired, and he can't walk anymore! He must have arthritis or something. Why would I want to ask help from someone who can't walk or fight?"

"At least he could!" Chug retorted. The two then turned their attention back to the program, where footage of a rather gruesome accident was being shown.

 **A/N: keep in mind things are going to be complicated from now on.**

A lot thanks to my beta reader as well!


End file.
